


Roses and Honey

by noodlenat101



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlenat101/pseuds/noodlenat101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also on Fanfiction.net, but now re-edited and not quite so terrible. I may even update it someday. :) My name on there is blossomstar16</p><p>Rogue and Gambit get along. So do Anna Marie and Remy. </p><p>A story with southern twangs, southern music, southern sass, and sadness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses and Honey

The End

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It isn't true what you read in action and adventure novels, or what you see in movies. Blood in real life isn't thick, or dark, or slow to spread.

It's brighter than life, so red it hurts your eyes to look at it, and it spreads quickly on cement floors. It flows like a river towards that sinister looking drain, and as you watch it, your hope drains along with it.

Because there's no chance now. You still can't touch the only man you've ever loved, and hated, and wanted. You're still locked in a dark cell below ground, and you're still watching him bleed out from bullet wounds.

Your gloves are red now, when they used to be pristine, a blinding white to match your dress.

As your tears mingle with his blood you lose all hope, drip drip dropping down a rusty floor drain.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1

Nine Months Previous

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started down south of the Mason-Dixon line, in the wet slippery heat of Mississippi, where a young girl stole her first kiss, and almost stole a life along with it.

With Cody in a coma, she changed her hair, and her style, and her mother. Now she is Rogue. Anna Marie is hidden below the surface. 

Now she wears gloves, and now people see her as that girl with striped hair and sad, strange eyes.

"Rogue!" she startles out of her daydreams with a jolt, her gloved hand slamming down onto the kitchen tabled with a smack.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ah! Oh, Storm. Whad'ya want sug'?" 

"There's a danger room session with Logan in twenty minutes," Storm said with a twinkle of her mysterious eyes, a strand of long silvery hair sliding down her shoulder. There is amoment of silence as they both process the statement, then Rogue nods and curves her lips in a smile.

Kurt enters the kitchen just then, a frantic Kitty on his heels.

"Kurt! I can't believe you hacked my Facebook! Now all my friends are going to think I'm a total freak!" She snarled, true to her name, hands reaching for his neck like a cat's claws. Kurt's tail whips back and forth to escape her grasp.

"But Keety, you are a freak, ja? We all are!" Kurt replied with an impish grin, ducking around to the other side of the table. With that he teleported. Whether the danger room was safer than being close to Kitty, well, that's hard to say.

Kitty let out another ear-splitting shriek, and started to stomp away.

"I'm so glad we have a danger room session today, I'm going to tear Kurt a new one!"

Storm let out a quiet chuckle, and also left the kitchen.

Alone again, Anna let herself frown. She hears the ticking of the clock sink into her bones, and feels the pulse in her fingertips, in her face and toes.

She quiets her body.

I will not absorb, I will not absorb, I will not absorb. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Danger room session is pretty typical, Scott and Logan split off right away, after Logan ruffles her hair in the most careful way. Storm stays in the control room, and Rogue can see Kitty trying to tackle Kurt to the ground, made hard by her mutation and Kurt's. A robot pops out of the ground to her right, a laser taking aim at her, and she whips her hand out and knocks it aside like a harmless fly. It isn't damaged, but deflected.

Several more surround her, popping up from the floor with a mechanical whirring sound, well-oiled gears not betraying any sort of shoddy machinery. Xavier truly spared no expense. She settles into a crouch, hands at the level of her eyes.

She lashes out at the nearest one with a foot, and uses her momentum to smack another with a flat palm, allowing it to fire its beam onto its neighbor, the one she kicked doing the same. She dropped to her stomach and rolled onto her knees, springing between the last two, letting their beams strike each other.

She uses her opponents strengths against them. It's one of the main reasons no one really wants to spar with her. If she touches them they pass out, even just a little scrape, and their attacks can be used to her advantage only too often. Many people in the x-men are rather arrogant—it's almost surprising.They don't want to let Rogue best them in combat. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean's been missing for two months. Logan and Scott have been taking out their frustration on each other, and Bobby…

Bobby and Rogue have been tense since they broke up. It's kind of obvious that I'm the worst possible choice for a girlfriend. But it doesn't help that Kitty likes him.

I know it's hard to control who you fall in love with, but her timing is really terrible. I feel guilty for making her feel guilty.

But she doesn't blame either of them for wanting to hold hands in darkened corners. It's a dangerous enough time, it's understandable for them to want some comfort when they still have the chance, the time, the ability.

He wished for a girlfriend he can love, and she wished for a boyfriend she could touch.

They both didn't get what they wanted.

I'm impossible to love anyways.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were flying to some evil scientist's lab out west, somewhere in the middle of flat plains of corn and beans, under the rounded dome of the Midwestern sky.

Storm was hoping it was a place Jean might have been taken, but all they found was abandoned mutant experimentations.

They had left pretty much right before the X-Men arrived, because they were still suspended in cylinders of gel, hooked up to IV's and oxygen. Rogue stared at the face of a naked man, probably in his mid-twenties, and so carefully, roguishly handsome. His chest rose and fell in a slow steady rhythm inside his…tank.

"Storm, are we going to rescue them?" she asked loudly.

"Yes," was her short reply. Anna could tell she was a disturbed by this as the rest of them. She inspected the outside of the tank, and found a control panel standing slightly towards the left. Since the handsome man was in the first one in the room, a large number one resided at the top of the panel. She pressed the button next to the word "drain", and then proceeded to the next tank, and so on, all the way down the line.

There were twenty tanks in that room alone, and she looked at and memorized each face using a little of the Professor's telepathy stored inside of her. His powers of the mind helped to enhance her memory, as well as her mental shields.

She made her way back to the first tank, where the man inside was still asleep and slumped against the bottom and side of the tank. She switched the "release" lever, and prepared herself to catch him.

His eyes flew open as the glass rose, and he pounced. Taken aback, he ended up sprawled atop of her, her hands pinned above her head.

Blushing, she yelled at him, "What the hell, are ya crazy? Is this normally how you treat rescuers?"

His eyes remained unfocused, and she noticed the inverted whites of his eyes, black with burning coals for irises.

As they came into focus, they noticed shouts coming from the doorway of the scientific prison.

There, watching Rogue being pinned by a naked, gel covered, devilish man, was Storm, Scott, and Logan.

They looked very unimpressed.

"Well," she shouted at them. "Are you going to help me, or stand there like a buncha' dumbasses?"

It's safe to say that the incredible naked wonder was soon removed from her person, and given a blanket.

With the rest of the entire compound freed, which took about three hours, the X-Men struggled to get them blankets and make sure the drugs left no lingering effects.

The youngest mutant there was thirteen. She had gills and webbed hands and feet, and her eyes were a murky yellow-green with slit pupils. She looked terrified, and refused to say a word.

The oldest was in his eighties, the cat-like features of his face and body, two-foot furred tail and paws included. He hissed at them, tail twitching angrily.

Somehow, they found clothes, explained the situation, and checked the health of all hundred and forty of them.

Three of them decided to go back with them: the handsome man with devil's eyes, a nineteen year old mutant who's skin had a distinct green hue that also claimed some telekinesis and telepathy, and a muscled man who was anywhere between twenty and forty, it was impossible to tell.

The look of protectiveness he cast towards the skinny green youth was enough reason to let him come too, although he wouldn't say a word, and they couldn't deduce what his mutation might be, or if he even had one.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the mansion, rooms were being traded to make room for the new additions. The teen's name Martin, but went by Martian. He told Xavier that the older man had been through several experiments with him, but still didn't know his name.

Logan took a liking to the silent man at once, offering a cigar and a set of clothes from his own room.

They wouldn't know for several more weeks that he had superstrength, and that he would break down several doors to save Martian from a play fight. 

For Rogue, the main trouble was caused by their failed attempt at finding Jean, Scott's increasing apathy, Logan's increasing frustration, and the devil taking an apparent liking to her.

He reminded her too much of a home she could never return to—a home of sweltering summers, exotic and spicy food, and mystical hypocritical people.

She missed the aura of the south; she missed Caldecott, and Biloxi, the swingy, brassy jazz of N'Orleans, and the small town Baptist choirs full of colorful women and personalities.

The sound of his twangy, rakish, colorful accent was like a knife in her heart. His voice brought back all her old demons.

 

This Cajun was the devil himself.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was three days later, and she finally had a moment to herself. There was a...grotto, I suppose one could call it, a sort of secluded section by the pond, hidden from the world by a weeping willow and a cluster of rose bushes. There was a stone bench and a statue of an angel. Stains from long years of weather left green trails down her face and arms. Rogue sat there to watch the sun set.

It's her favorite time of day, when the sky's colors blend and shift every moment. It's twenty minutes, thirty, an hour of beautiful colors and moments and light.

It was a time, and a place, where she could be alone with herself and not feel sad about it. She could sort out the memories in her head, the moments, the powers, the personalities. The system she had created for herself was like a filing system, like the safety deposit boxes in a bank: numbered, layered, and impenetrable save a giant explosion.

But since that devil has been present at the mansion, she's been finding him following her each night when she tries to get away, getting closer and closer, until he's found her proverbial secret garden.

The scent of June roses was heady in the warm summer stillness, and as his glowing coal eyes tried to memorize her features, she felt a frown carve its way onto her face.

"Gambit," she started, but when she realized that she didn't have anything to say she sighed, and gave up.

"Chère. C'est tres belle ici, non?" he pulled a cigarette out of a gleaming silver case, an object far too old fashioned for someone like him, but then again, he is from the south. A lot of customs survived there that they didn't elsewhere.

"I know it's beautiful here Gambit, but why do you insist on following me?" she asked him, her arms crossed over her chest as her right leg folded over her left one.

He took one long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth and into the darkening day like a will-o-the-wisp.

"Because, Chère, you intrigue me, non? Gambit wonders why all you so is hide away and sigh." A smirk spreads across his face as he speaks, making some warm liquid feeling pool in her gut.

"Do you know what my mutation is sug'?" she asks.

"Do you know mine?" he retorts.

"Hmm." She doesn't answer. She standsup, and stretches her hip. "You like to bet, don'cha? It's in your name after all."

His eyebrows raise but he says nothing. The fire in his eyes smolders.

"Well," she continues. "Because if you come and give me a kiss, Ah bet you'll find out mah mutation pretty quick."

A smile like poison-laced molasses spreads across his face, and as she lets his lips brush hers, a bright, burning triumph fills her chest.

He drops like a stone, and she starts to laugh.

 

The ending, continued.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rogue was her mask, her iron-cast façade. Rogue was dark makeup and scowls, snappy retorts and long black gloves.

It was Anna Marie that Gambit saw now, this trembling pale girl sitting before him. The hard cement was cracked from her fists, and her tear streaked face was settling into a look of hopelessness. Rogue would have been yelling at the guards, Rogue would have been trying to find a way, biting and kicking and screaming the whole way, but she was all used up.

Anna Marie was all that was left, the southern romantic with a penchant for sultry blues music and spicy Creole.

This was all he knew of Anna Marie, but he knew Rogue like the back of his hand. She might have been only one half of the girl he loved, she might have been the mask, but their arguments were worn smooth like old leather, comfortable and familiar. Gambit was used to Rogue.

If Gambit couldn't handle Anna, maybe Remy could. It was Remy and Rogue that clashed, Remy and Rogue that fought and hurt, but Gambit and Rogue were the ones that ended up almost kissing, almost breaking the rule they knew they couldn't.

Remy and Anna Marie could get along just fine, then. Remy was sad, sincere, and bitter: it was Gambit that was the flirt, the rakish charmer.

But Remy and Gambit alike were too weak to comfort now, to woozy from blood-loss.

The action and the talking would have to come later.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Nine Months Earlier)

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rogue left him in a heap in the garden. She wandered away; sifting mentally through the memories le diable had left in her head. Flashes of N'Orleans—of bright magenta lights, screams, and a beautiful blonde—left Rogue reeling. She made her way back to her bedroom, one she shared with Kitty, and changed for bed.

As she slipped under the covers, wearing socks and gloves and long-sleeved pajamas, Rogue lets herself be sad for a moment.

-parce que la belle Orléans es la mieux ville dans l'Amérique, est Paris est la plus belle ville dans le monde—Ma belle Bella, ma mignonne, ma petite, mon amour, ma cœur—Mais père, ce n'est pas ma faute, I lost control—

A tear escaped as she thought of how warm his lips had been, but she wiped it away and made herself fall asleep.

They had barely touched, but his bush with the softest lips in the world meant that Remy awoke several hours later—a heap on cooling cement. For once in his life, Remy could honestly say he had no idea that would happen, but as they say, hind sight is twenty-twenty.

He should've been able to tell she couldn't touch. Remy paid attention, so did Gambit, so why didn't he or his alter-ego look underneath the underneath? She always wore gloves, stood in the corner or the background.

Gambit's all smooth flowing movement—all action and instant decisions. Remy is a long term planner, but a thief just the same. This is what you get for thinking you could steal a kiss from a girl with nothing to lose. 

Remy should've realized why the beautiful girl with sad eyes didn't want to give in to a kiss in a dark corner, why she'd smirk with hard eyes after finally putting up with enough.

Mais, her lips were as soft as silk.

Anna Marie wakes as the sun rises, one sock loose underneath the covers of a delicate, baby pink bedspread.

It's Rogue that gets up to face the day, however, one hardened eye all that can be seen in the bathroom mirror.

Her tumbling chestnut curls cover half of her face, one side of her, dark, mouth set in a frown. A shower gives her skin color, and makeup darkens lips and eyelids.

A knock at the door brings her out of the bathroom, and she is not surprised when le diable waltzes into her room like he owns it.

He casts a cursory glance to the sleeping Kitty. She is curled into a ball under her sheets, the comforter half on the floor, and her mouth half-open. She breathes heavily, still deeply asleep.

"Mornin', Chére, have a good night's rest?" Gambit drawls. He fingers the pale pink of her bedspread, demon eyes taking in every sweet, girlish thing on her side of the room. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"Ah've had better. Went tah sing the shower this mornin' and Ah started to singin' French. 'Twas a little annoying," Rogue replies, like the crack of a whip.

Gambit's smile spread like butter on cornbread.

"Sorry 'bout dat, Chére. I was born down in la belle ville, non?" Remy's face turns serious, strong line of his jaw set like stone. "I'm serious 'bout da'apology, chére, I had no idea 'bout you mutation."

"S'alright," she croaks, throat suddenly tight. "Ah'll just be speakin' creole for a coupla days until I get your psyche boxed away. "

"Did ya get Gambit's mutation, too?" he asks, honestly curious. He sits on her bed, and she tries not to think about how personal that is.

In response, Rogue picks up one of her Raggedy Anne dolls, and it slowly turns a faint magenta, the glow spreading slowly from her palm. She draws the charge back into her body, and sighs.

"Chére, you got da sigh of une ange," Gambit remarks. He smirks like honey. "Want tah get coffee sometime? Or icecream? You're bound tah have a favorite food that makes yah moan."

Rogue leans down in front of him. Her gloved hands smooth over his face. For just a second he sees Anna Marie. He looks into her sad, gray-green eyes, and understands.

Rogue smirks darkly, and with the help of a psyche, tosses Gambit into the hallway like he was a piece of crumpled paper. His head collides with the wall with a sharp thunk, and Kitty startles awake, back arched, and lands in a heap on the floor.

Rogue steps over him as Kitty starts yelling, and heads to the kitchen.

Remy doesn't follow.

\---

Start with softened butter, just a quarter cup. Three eggs, large, grade A. Let them warm up too, it helps the ingredients mix better. Cast iron skillet popped empty into the over, preheat to 425 degrees farenheit.

Then cornmeal, sugar, bakin' powder, flour, salt, and soda.

Crisco. Lotsa Crisco.

Pull the skillet out carefully, add Crisco so the batter don't stick.

Pour the batter in carefully, then put it in the oven to bake for twenty minutes.

Pour over molasses, or honey. Eat with fat-back and fried okra.

Anna Marie starts to sweat, the oven's heat finally getting to her. She itches to take off her gloves, but she can't, she can't, she can't. The golden brown cornbread comes out of the oven smelling like home.

She starts on the fried okra and bacon then, oil, spices, pepper, pepper, and more pepper. Thinly sliced okra, tomatoes, and green onions start to steam when they hit the bacon fat, the cooking strips of meat making the kitchen smell even better.

Cooking is her one weakness. It's an escape to a happier time, a more peaceful existence with Irene.

Still sweating, and now a little tired, Marie cuts a pie-shaped wedge of cornbread and smothers it with honey. She scoops a small bowls worth of her fried okra, and sits at the counter island.

No one else is up this early, so she enjoys her meal, another sigh escaping her lips.

Remy stays in the hallway. It smells like his Tante's cooking.

He knows her weakness: she misses the south as much as he does.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(About a Week Later)

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anna sat cross-legged on her bench, the cool air raising goose bumps on her bare arms and neck. She shook her head, loose auburn curls settling in a soft swooping motion about her face and shoulders. She opens her eyes slowly, revealing wilting roses on the bushes and the delicate lavender light of dawn tinting the sky. A white stripe of hair covers her left eye.

She sees Remy. He's leaning against a stone arch several feet away, and he lets his face show how tired he is, how bitter. His frown lines deepen as they look at each other.

"Your cornbread was good, Chère," he says, breaking the silence. His voice is raw. "Made me miss ma Tante."

Rogue glares back. "How'd ya know Ah made cornbread?"

He looks at her like she's stupid, mock surprise making a caricature out of his handsome features, smile lines too big, eyebrows too high.

"Ah'm a T'ief," he answers, sounding amused.

"Go. Away." Her voice was poison.

"What'ya do out here all the time anyway, Chère?"

"I wait for people to leave me alone."

"Ah've been watchin' you Chère," he says, effortlessly moving from arch to bench in one long, lanky step. His weight settles on the bench silently, and it unnerves her. "Now Ah know your mutation, and it's no walk in la quartier, mais…you have to have some control, non?"

Rogue's scowl was stone, but as the seconds turn into minutes, it was Anna's tears that started to shine in her eyes. She tilts her head back, determined to keep them from spilling down her face. Her moment of weakness brought down Gambit's guard, but suddenly Rogue was back, snarling.

"Mind yer own business, Swamp Rat!"

Remy's frown lines were back, his glowing-coal eyes having a sad set to them.

She can't stand being around him another second, and leaves, furious.

Remy plucks a dying rose, and Gambit crushes it.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's like…your mutant name shows like, the embodiment of your power, your like, fierceness or whatever. Take Mr. Logan for example, Wolverine is a totally fitting name."

Kitty was explaining to the silent man, who the younger kids had taking to calling "Bob", about mutant names and their importance. The kitchen was almost brightly lit, the sun just peeking over the horizon, and the ceiling lights too dim in comparison. Kitty stood at the stove, pushing scrambled eggs back and forth in a skillet as "Bob" sat at the counter island.

"It's also a way of keeping your distance from people. Like, Rogue. If the name wasn't a hint, she doesn't really want to talk to people. We don't even know her real name."

Kitty looks up at that point in time to see Rogue standing in the doorway, face impassive.

Kitty's face falls in horror.

"Rogue," she can't think of anything else to say, and so her sentence trails off, giving way to awkward silence.

She's gone as quickly and as silently as she appeared. A second later it's Gambit who peeks into the kitchen, sees Kitty and "Bob", and moves past without a word.

"Gambit's name might be harder to explain," Kitty tries to continue. The silent man's black eyes roam her face, taking in a trembling lower lip and too-bright eyes. "D-Do you know any French?"

He places a hand on her shoulder, seeing tenderness in her that he saw, still sees, in Martin.

Her shoulders start to shake, but she doesn't make a sound, and doesn't look at him.

She decides to go to the roof, her only other option becoming less and less available with frequent visits from a flirty Cajun.

Leaning against the chimney closest to her access point (Her bedroom window and a precarious flower trellis), Anna Marie closes her eyes again. Settling into a relaxed pose, she starts thinking, pushing with her "borrowed" telepathy.

I will not absorb. I will not absorb. I will not absorb. 

She knows it's probably futile. Meditation by itself would never do anything, but maybe if she approached the professor…

"You are one o' de hardest filles to find, didja know dat?"

The voice doesn't startle her, or even surprise her; it merely fills her with instant rage. She doesn't open her eyes, or acknowledge him.

"And Ah'm a T'ief. You woulda done well in de Guild."

She feels him settle on the flat roof in front of her, his breath on her face and neck. He's perfectly silent; she can't even hear his breath.

"Ah t'ink you're one o' de most self-involved people Ah've eva met."

This comment makes her break her silence. She opens her eyes, and his face is inches from hers.

"How in the world do you think that?"

"All you do is hide away, but I'm sure all you're t'inking is 'oh poor me, I can't touch so I take it out on the people I care about'."

"How dare you! You think Ah'm self-involved?" She leaned in closer, so close their noses almost brushed, so close she could hear him swallow. "You have got ta take the friggin' cake, buddy. Flirtin' with every girl you see, beddin' most of them. You're so aware of you looks that it's painful to watch."

Remy's gaze turned serious suddenly. His frown lines seemed to get deeper and deeper each time she saw him.

"Chère, I t'ink you should listen to gossip less."

She snorted, eyes rolling and head turning away from him.

"I want ta kiss you so badly, Chère.

Feeling vindictive, angry, hurt, and sad all at once, she couldn't help but want to punish him.

"Well, here ya go."

She held on as long as she could, until his thoughts overwhelmed her. Tear tracks made their way down to her collar bones, dripped off of her chin.

"Ya bastard."

\----

She decided to be nice. She stayed on the roof with him that night, holding his limp torso to hers as the night grew cooler. She never would've been able to get Gambit's body down herself, at least not unless it was an emergency, and even if she did, Hank's disappointed eyes would only have added to her anger.

It was close to sunset when she kissed him, and a little bit after twilight when she actually began to feel sorry about it. It was that pink color of day, signifying dawn, when Remy started to shift in her arms. Anna reluctantly released him, settling him against the harsh surface of the flat roof. She sighed as dew wet his hair, her breath steaming.

His eyes fluttered as they opened, long, amber colored lashes brushing his cheeks. His glowing scarlet irises glowed softly, burning brighter as he awakened. Both of them were stiff, moving slowly to face each other better. The strong golden rays of the sun hit one side of their faces, making Anna appear an auburn hair sun fairie, and Remy a fire-eyed demon. Anna scooted back out of the sun's rays, her back hitting the inactive chimney, and the illusion ended. Remy crossed his legs into a pretzel, his elbows pressing into his knees as he leaned towards her.

"You stayed," he said. It wasn't a question.

This was the man Rogue didn't understand, the man who paid attention, who watched her with rapt fascination.

"Ah wouldn't have been able to get you to your room," she replied, tossing her head.

Gambit smirked, "Kitty was right."

"About what?" she asked, posture going rigid, her full dark lips disappearing into a thin line.

"You," he said with a smile. "You're all prickly for no reason, half the time."

"No reason?" Prickly?" She started to exclaim but—

"What's your name, anyway chère?"

"You can call me Rogue."

"But what should I call that sweet half of you?'

Rogue froze. "What?"

"You know, there's Rogue," he gestured towards her. "And then there's that girl who makes cornbread, sings in the shower, and likes dolls. "

"Ah don't know what you're talking about."

"I've asked around, believe me," he said, leaning closer. She briefly entertained the thought of flying away as her heart started to pound. "I'm apparently the only one to see you almost cry, not even Bobby—"

A pale ungloved hand whipped out. Remy's gloved hand caught hers easily.

"Don't think you could get away with striking me, chère," he said, eyes dangerous, His tone was as if scolding a small child. "Not even mon père could get away with it."

She tried to pull away, but he held her, pulling her closer to him. Both of them on their knees now, Gambit harshly demanded, "Why don't you go to the professor, chère?"

She tried to pull away again, but Gambit's hand still held her fast. Remy's other hand came up to smooth the first edge of tears into her cheek.

"The professor's afraid o' me," she mumbled, eyes looking down.

The confession seemed to take a lot out of her, slumping into Remy's embrace.

"He's tried to help me before, but last time Ah lost control." Her words were half lost in his cloth covered shoulder. "There's a lady Ah drained all the way once, a mutant named Carol. She could fly, and had super strength—"

"You could a gotten me down chère—" Gambit started, his tone sly and accusing.

"Ah can only other mutations under extremely stressful situations," Rogue cut him off impatiently.

"So….battle?"

"Dr. McCoy told me it had something to do with hormones and adrenaline…but we still can't figure out if my mutation is physical or mental."

"What about both?"

She didn't answer, instead saying "When Ah lost control it was when the professor was in my head…he was trapped in there with the other psyches for several days while Carol had control of my body. Ah was buried so deep inside myself Jean could barely find me."

"That's….that's rough chère."

"Ah hate that Ah cry around you," she said, looking into his eyes for once. They were gray and green and amber, swirled together like mist over the bayou. "You make me feel so weak without even trying."

"I'm…I'm sorry chère. You know I don't mean to, non? 'S just my t'ief's nature."

His charming smile managed to coax one of her own onto her face.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it was just his constant proximity—this blinding sort of attraction left her blinded and reeling. He was always so warm, so close.

she had read in lots of books about that "spark". In this case it was literal. Just the feel of his skin through clothing made her warm, made her head swim.

At the same time, she wants nothing to do with him. Of course she had always dreamed of boyfriends, of love, and marriage, and babies.

Her mutation changed a lot of dreams she never knew she had. Sex was one of those things. Hand holding and kisses are easy enough to imagine when you're eleven, but sex? She wasn't sure what sex was until a couple of years ago. Kitty and some of the other girls got together and they all watched a bit of a porno.

There was lots of…penis.

It was shocking and embarrassing. The rest of the girls all laughed and blushed, but she left. She spent the rest of the night crying in the bathroom. Kitty tried to get her to come back, but at that point in time Bobby and her were still together, albeit rocky. They all knew Kitty liked him. And they all knew Bobby was starting to like her back. They were only seventeen, after all.

But she's afraid she has this complex. Even if someday she can control her powers, she'll never trust someone enough, be confident enough in herself to let someone be that close to her. She just can't see herself having sex, not like everyone else.

Ironically, motherhood is something she could see herself easily taking to. She's always loved children, even when she was still a child herself. Babies in particular made her ovaries kick rather hard. When she's PMSing it's easy to pretend that her breasts and stomach swell with pregnancy, but when her period comes she's reminded that she is a virgin, and she'll never be pregnant.

She'll never be a mother.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ending, Continued

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Remy awoke to hands around his throat. His first instinct was to fight, but his memory took over in the second it took for him to open his eyes. He managed to remain limp.

Anna Marie was above him, tears gone, eyes hard and hands gentle as she examined his collar—one they both wore.

"Ah'm glad you're still alive," she whispered. "Ah think you can get a charge going if I damage your collar."

She digs a fingernail into a soft spot of software, and a faint buzz runs along his skin. They both know that more than a little shock could happen if this goes wrong, but he'll let her try, and then they'll face the repercussions together.

He runs a charge to the source of the shock, skin contact all that is needed to make it happen. His head reels as a foreign pressure invades his consciousness. Rogue's words are drowned out by claxons, and he passes out again.

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Seven Months Earlier

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Anna Marie had grown used to Remy's presence. August was sweltering, and poor Anna suffered in long sleeves and pants. At one point she was persuaded into swimming with Kitty, forced into a conservative one-piece when Kitty hid her wetsuit. The water was a relief from the dry-crackling wind, and it gave Remy an excuse to lay out by the water, in nothing but swim trunks and a smile, his lithe form stretched long and lanky by the poolside.

Her pale skin glowed in the strong sunlight. Kitty's pleas for Rogue to wear bikini went unheard, the excuse "you have the abs for it!" never a good enough reason, especially when a sexy Cajun was in close proximity. Rogue started feeling nervous as more teenagers entered the pool. Everyone gave her wide berth, but she retreated to sitting on the edge, legs dangling into the water.

Gambit came over and sat next to her. "You goin' back to school in a couple o' weeks?"

"No," she sighed. "Ah'm taking this semester off."

"Why? What's your major?"

"I want to be a teacher, so Ah'm majoring in early childhood education but since Ah can't touch…" she trailed off, not needing to wander down so familiar a path.

"You like kids, den?"

"Ah always have, even when Ah was still just a kid myself. When Ah was twelve, a couple of months before my mutation manifested, Ah babysat a lot. Dreamed o' having lotsa kids," she sighed again.

"Belle ange, someday you goin' be mother à toutes les étoiles dans le ciel," he hugged her tight through the damp towels surrounding her.

She longed to hug him back. She tentatively reached one small pale hand towards his large tan one. Knowing what she wanted, and what he risked, he let their hands brush toegether.

After a moment, a blink, a bated breath, Remy started to feel it take.

Rogue let go instantly.

'It…it took a moment," Anna Marie let out a smile the size of Georgia. "It took a moment."

I will not absorb. I will not absorb this man that I—

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"Storm said you had something to tell me , Anna?"

"Yes professor. Ah touched Gambit's hand today."

"And?"

"It took a moment before Ah started absorbing."

"Show me," he said. He dove into her consciousness when he felt her mind open to him, watching from her point of view the instant of stillness before a trickle of memories and feelings began to pour through.

"It seems you also slowed input of information from the source. Remy wasn't adversely affected?"

Proffessor, he found out his mutation by kissing me."

"And he trusts you enough to be close to you often?"

"Ah guess."

"Hmm, interesting. You may go Anna."

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That night Anna dreamed of demon eyes and strong, tan hands. She woke up sweating, and with a devil at the foot of her bed.

She startled, but managed not to make a sound. Her hands clamped over her mouth, taking in the absence of Gambit's shirt, and the low rise of his pajama pants. Her own pajamas were falling off of her, the loose tank top and shorts hanging low, straps dangling off of her shoulders.

The single sheet that had covered her body was twisted about her legs.

"Sounds like you were having a pretty good dream, chère," he said. His voice was like cigar smoke, warm and rich and heady. She pulled up the sheet, unnerved by the feel of his eyes, the closeness of his body, and the darkness of the room.

"What do you want, Gambit?" she asked.

He was silent for a long moment, then moved suddenly and silently onto her bed, climbing up her legs, forearms resting on either side of her body. She could feel his body heat through the sheet, his legs pressed against hers, his torso solid and heavy against her stomach.

"I have never thought about a woman as much as I think about you." He kissed her suddenly, and along with the electric shock of skin on skin, she felt her sheets grow warm and cool, fluctuating.

She also noticed, after several seconds, that she was absorbing something, but not his thoughts or powers.

She pulled back.

"Remy? What is going on—"

"Shhh, chère, I'm charging the sheets and drawin' it back into mah body to give to you. You steal psychic energy, and I give and take kinetic energy. When I draw that energy inside myself, it becomes part o' me."

"So Ah can touch you as long as you're charging."

"In essence, yes. But it's also you, chère. You got stronger."

She pulled him into her, the sheet feeling too thick and too thin all at the same time.


End file.
